“It’s not my job to suspect anyone. Like I told Aubrey, this isn’t my jurisdiction. I’m just securing the scene as a courtesy to the people in charge. They’ll want to talk to Kaz, so it makes sense to keep him close at hand.”

  “Okay, good point. And here’s another one I’m sure you’ve already thought of. Remember what I saw that first morning we were here, when I went out for a jog around the lake?”

  “Kaz and Cole by the water, looking cozy.”

  “Exactly. You probably also remember what Cole was wearing.”

  Argo nodded. “The same thing he’s wearing right now.”

  “So I can’t help but wonder if he and Kaz were heading back there before the afternoon session started.”

  “Planning a quick little dip, you mean. Definitely occurred to me, too.”

  “I guess that’s one word.” Darian smiled uneasily. “Good to know great minds think alike.”

  “So do twisted ones, unfortunately. Look, here he comes.”

  They fell silent while Kaz made his way toward them with Lanislaw in tow. Kaz’s face was haggard with fear.

  “Stuart just told me what happened. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You’re an undercover cop? And Cole’s dead?”

  “I’m an off-duty sheriff, not an undercover cop.” Argo glanced at Lanislaw, keeping his expression neutral. Lanislaw, in turn, kept his mouth shut. “As for Cole, I’m afraid it’s true. And from what we’ve heard, you were in or at least near your cabin when it happened. We’ll have to tell the police when they get here, Kaz. They’re going to want to question you.”

  “Me? I didn’t see a thing! I was at my desk, working on my lecture for this afternoon. For all I knew, Cole was at the lodge with Hammond.”

  “You didn’t spot anyone walking around when you returned for lunch?”

  “Well, just that awful handyman, Greg Hodge. He glared at me like I wasn’t supposed to be in my own cabin, but I ignored him and continued on. We didn’t speak.” Kaz paused and wiped a hand over his face. “What happened to Cole…could it have been an accident?”

  “That’s not for us to say,” Argo informed him. “At this stage, though anything’s possible. Just tell the cops the truth about everything you know.”

  “Of course I will! I have nothing to hide.”

  “They’ll be glad to hear that.”

  “I need to sit down,” Kaz said. He staggered away, clearly overcome with emotion. Lanislaw muttered something about keeping an eye on him and followed.

  “It might be an accident, sure,” Argo muttered as he watched the two move onto an open grassy area. Kaz drew his knees up to his chest and rested his head on them. He went perfectly still, as though striking a yoga pose or trying to gather enough strength to stand up again. Lanislaw knelt nearby, saying nothing but watching intently.

  “Can somebody tell us what’s going on, please?” a voice yelled from the group of onlookers. It sounded like Marc Fresno.

  “A man’s been injured,” Greg Hodge shouted back. “Everyone stay where you are until the police and the ambulance get here. There’s nothing you can do. Now be quiet!”

  “He’s a real charmer, that one,” Darian said. “What possessed Aubrey to put him in charge of the whole campground?”

  “At least he’s keeping everyone contained,” Argo observed. “In this case, it’s not such a bad thing that they’re afraid of him.”

  “I guess. Argo, what Kaz said about it being an accident…he didn’t seem to know about the arrow. Otherwise he wouldn’t have asked. Marksmanship like that would have to be deliberate, wouldn’t it?”

  “If he did know, he was smart not to blurt it out. Because he must remember that the two of us, along with Greg, saw him practicing his technique this morning. We also heard him brag about his extensive training in the sport. Soon he’ll be repeating all that for the cops, too. Or, if not, I will.”

  While they talked, the wail of the sirens crescendoed and stopped. One set of car doors slammed, followed by another and then a third. Presently an older man in uniform appeared, accompanied by two younger cops and a pair of EMTs rolling a gurney.

  “Here they come,” Darian said. By then Argo was already striding toward them. He held his ID up in front of him and kept his other hand extended in greeting.

  Within minutes, the investigation was underway. Chief Winthrop Creed was stout, gray-haired, and, if Darian were being totally honest, dull-eyed. He seemed more than content to let Argo direct the scene. The EMTs went off to inspect the body, while one officer stepped away to summon more backup. The other kept the crowd of guests contained and cautioned them not to speak about the situation until it was time for formal interviews.

  “How can we talk when we don’t know what in hell is going on?” Marc Fresno demanded, but no one offered an answer. Lanislaw, still seated on the grass beside Kaz, watched the proceedings in silence.

  “I’ve lived in this area all my life,” Creed said as he jotted down Argo’s statement in a tiny notepad with crisp pages that looked unused. “Been chief of police for the last twenty. Never saw anything like this before. We’ve had a few killings here and there, but it’s usually hunting accidents or domestic stuff. To be honest, that’s what I figured this was going to be.”

  “It’s too early to determine the exact cause yet,” Argo told him. “You’ll need your county medical examiner for that. I assume you called out a forensics team, too?”

  “We’re working on it,” Creed grumbled. When he stopped talking, his jaw and lips kept moving. Darian wondered if he was counting down the seconds until his retirement.

  “I understand,” said Argo. “Should I leave you to it, then? The last thing I want is to get in your way.”

  Creed seemed about to wave him off, but stopped and sighed instead. “Listen, Sheriff. Why don’t you and me talk in private? You can show me the…uh…crime scene at the same time. I can start taking statements when we get back.” He raised his voice to the uniformed officer managing the crowd of guests. “Don’t let anyone go yet, Leon.”

  “Sure thing, Chief,” Leon called back amiably.

  Argo gave Darian a quick eyebrow lift as the two set off for Hammond’s cabin. He was already frustrated by Creed’s inefficiency, Darian could tell. Personally, he was relieved that the locals seemed content to step aside and listen to someone with experience in murder investigations. Another reason for their cooperative attitude might be the nature of the crime—particularly its location. Judging by what he and Argo witnessed at the convenience store, plenty of the townies probably suspected the writing retreat was a cover for wild gay orgies or worse. It made him wonder how the chief and his cronies planned to spin Cole’s death. Would they use it as an excuse to close down the campground? Or would they try to say Cole had brought violence on himself by coming to such an event in the first place?

  “Lanislaw dithered for a while, but in the end he came clean. Of course, he asked the cops to keep his real identity secret from everyone except us.” Argo leaned both arms on the table and toyed with his coffee cup. He had returned to the cabin a few hours after Darian and the rest of the workshop participants had been sent to their quarters with strict orders not to discuss the case with one another. Darian had endured a long afternoon of solitude while he waited for an update. He’d even been too distracted to work on Rory’s research materials. Once again, the mysteries of Wilfred Baine would have to wait.

  “And the locals agreed to go along with him?” Darian asked, surprised.

  “Believe it or not, yes. If you want the truth, I think they found the whole idea of an undercover cop from Florida exciting. They probably think Cole was some kind of drug kingpin or gang leader. Not that Lanislaw would encourage them in that fantasy.”

  “Of course not, no.” Darian shared Argo’s weary smile.

  “Gotta admit, I enjoyed seeing Chief Creed’s beady little eyes bug out when he discovered not one, but two vacationing cops camped out on his turf.”

  “Lanislaw probably figured they’d run a background check on everyone here, anyway,” Darian said. He went to the counter and returned with the coffee pot, refilling his and Argo’s cups. “His true line of work was bound to come out.”

  “You’d think so.” Argo scowled. “When it comes to Chief Creed, though, I’m not so sure he would have bothered. I wasn’t too impressed by what I saw at the station. He seems to think this was all the result of someone horsing around with an archery set.”

  “You’re kidding.” Darian sat down heavily. It was exactly as he had feared. Cole’s nudity gave the townies license to speculate he’d been killed during some kinky interlude in the woods. In fairness, Darian couldn’t really rule the possibility out, considering what he’d seen at the lake. However, he didn’t believe for a minute that Cole’s death was unintentional. “Whoever shot that arrow knew what he was doing. He must have aimed directly at Cole’s back.”

  Argo drained his second cup of coffee and rubbed his neck irritably. “I can see why you’d reach that conclusion, and I don’t mind admitting I’m leaning in the same direction myself. But like I said before, this isn’t my territory and it sure as hell isn’t my case. I got Chief Creed started and gave him my impressions so far. I assume you and everyone else at the retreat did, too. Meaning my part in this sorry little drama is over.”

  “Okay, yeah. Whatever you say.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Argo sounded stern, but Darian caught him biting back a smile.

  “Nothing. It’s just that in the past, you’ve had a hard time walking away from a case involving people you know. And it’s doubly frustrating when the people in charge don’t seem particularly competent or motivated.”

  Argo’s fidgeting told Darian he’d struck a nerve. “I can’t deny I’m less than impressed with what passes for an investigative team out here. Still, it’s not my place to criticize other departments. I wouldn’t tolerate it at my station. And on the bright side, it doesn’t look like they’re going to shut down the workshop. So you can keep teaching—as best you can, anyway—and we can try to salvage what’s left of our quiet forest getaway.”

  “I’d wondered if they’d let us continue. I suppose it makes sense, since they won’t want anyone leaving the premises before they get some answers. But wow, it’s going to be hard to pick up as though nothing happened.”

  “So don’t.” Argo shrugged. “Use today’s events to your advantage. Let the guys write about what they’re experiencing and how they feel about what’s going on around them. Might be cathartic.”

  “You know, that’s a good idea. We definitely use the same method at Birchwood. It’s sort of a therapeutic technique.” Darian paused. “Wait a minute. Did you pick up that trick when you went in for counseling? After you got shot? If so, this is the first time you’ve ever talked to me about it.”

  “Sorry. Privileged information.” Winking, Argo mimed locking his mouth and throwing the key away. He stood to claim the last of the coffee as a sharp knock sounded on their cabin door. Darian opened it to find a stressed-out Aubrey.

  “I need to talk to Argo,” he said. Without waiting for an invitation, he strode to the kitchen table and grabbed a seat. “I’ve just spent an hour with our idiot police chief. It’s no secret he doesn’t like me, or any of us, for that matter. He’d be happy to close this whole place up and toss us all in jail on some drummed-up charge. Argo, if what you said about having homicide experience was true, you’ve got to help me figure this out!”

  Chapter 9

  “Let’s start from the beginning,” Argo prompted Aubrey. “First, how’s Hammond doing?”

  “Better. Once he got a little more coherent, the cops took him to the station so he could answer some questions. Our friend with the frosted hair volunteered to go with him and help out. Can’t say why. Gathering material for his crime thriller, I suppose.”

  “Could be.” Argo’s expression gave nothing away. The subtle shift in his posture and attitude showed Darian he was summoning his interview persona. That side of Argo never betrayed a touch of judgment or emotion. Facts only. And it always seemed to work. “I can imagine how stressful this must be for you. I assume nothing like this ever happened here before.”

  “You can say that again. And here I thought running this place would be a cake walk compared to the bar I had out in Colorado.”

  “A gay bar?”

  “Sure. What else?” Aubrey grew defensive. “It was a classy place, though. More like a neighborhood pub than a meat market. Still, it got tiresome, so I sold up and came here. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “How long have you known Hammond?”

  “Oh, since we were kids. Well, in our twenties, anyway. Thirty-five years, off and on. We didn’t keep in contact regularly.”

  “Until recently,” Darian spoke up. “This writing retreat was his idea, right?”

  “Yup. He heard about me buying the campground and got in touch with a business proposal. I figured, why not? The workshop sounded like a surefire money-maker to me. I swung at the first pitch.”

  “When was that?” Argo asked.

  “Probably six months ago. Right around the time he and Cole got married. He said he wanted to make a literary comeback, like some aging ’80s rock star. Hell, maybe the whole thing was Cole’s idea. New husband, new life, fresh start and all that muck.”

  “It’s great you stepped up to support him,” Darian said. Argo’s subtle nod encouraged him to continue. “Just out of curiosity, how did you and Hammond meet all those years ago? The world was a different place for guys like us back then.”

  “Damn right.” Aubrey smiled fondly at the recollection. “We started talking at a party. That was long before he’d written any of his books. He was still a college kid then—really full of himself, as I recall. Privileged. I was just the opposite. Yet somehow we hit it off.”

  “Sounds fun. Were you two… you know…close?”

  “Lovers, you mean? Nah. We did better as friends and we both realized that. The physical attraction didn’t click. I’m nothing like Cole, as you can plainly see. Besides, Hammond never said it out loud, but he always thought he was too highbrow for me. For all I know, he still does, with all his advanced degrees and published books. Still, I wouldn’t trade places with him.” Aubrey grimaced. “When I agreed to let him run this workshop, I didn’t realize how much he drank. If I had, my decision might have been different. Or at least I would have set some stricter ground rules.”

  Argo rejoined the conversation, his gaze as sharp and focused as the sight on a rifle. So much for standing down and letting the local cops handle it. Investigating came as naturally to Argo as breathing. And Darian wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. “How about Cole? When did you meet him?”

  “Not until they showed up earlier this week. I mean, unless you count video chats on the computer while Hammond and I worked out the logistics. I saw Cole in the background. Once he even pranced past the screen naked. He acted like it was an accident, so I pretended not to notice. I’m sure that disappointed him.”

  “Wow.” Darian feigned shock. In truth, he had no trouble imagining Cole doing exactly what Aubrey described. “What was that all about?”

  “Just another of Cole’s stupid stunts.” Aubrey shrugged. “He used his looks to his advantage. Then again, Hammond might have egged him on. Lording his sweet young thing over me, rubbing my single status in my face. Little do they know, I prefer it that way.”

  “Cole’s behavior didn’t give you pause about going into business with them?” Darian asked.

  “Why would it? The seminar is just for one week. You can put up with anything for that long. Bottom line, his book came out a long time ago, but it still sells. I followed his career a bit. Who wouldn’t? An old friend makes it big. I figured this venture could help both of us—my campground and his writing career. As for them making me jealous, it didn’t work. The thing is, I’m past all that. I got my share and I’m done with romance. Good riddance.”

  “If Hammond really did put him up to it, they must have had a strange marriage, for sure,” Argo commented, flashing Aubrey a salacious smirk. “What did you know about their relationship before they got here?”

  “Only what Hammond told me. They got together after his buddy Roger died. Nasty business. Cole found Roger bludgeoned to death after a home invasion, as you probably heard. Hammond came to offer Cole a hand in sorting out Roger’s affairs. I guess he offered other kinds of comfort, too. Next thing I knew, they were together. Maybe it was inevitable, though. Cole needed someone to lean on, and Prescott was lonely. He’d had plenty of lovers, but no one special enough to stay with, much less marry. And as I’m sure you’ve noticed, none of us is getting any younger.”

  “So the marriage was Hammond’s idea?” Darian pressed.

  “Well, actually, no. To hear Hammond tell it, Cole kept going on about how he needed to marry again for security and legal protection. The cops suspected he had some role in the attack on Roger, you know. Not that they could prove anything. Eventually Prescott went along with the plan. He wanted an heir to administer his estate if something happened to him—keep his literary heritage alive and so forth. Or be there to guard the plug if he fell into a coma. You hear about things like that. Guys our age—Hammond’s and mine, I mean—might need someone to look after us. Younger husbands are a safe bet. Het guys marry younger women for the same reason, right?”

  Argo nodded. “Makes sense. Were you at the wedding?”

  “Nope. No one was. They eloped, if it’s still called that if you don’t go far from home. They felt a private ceremony would be more tasteful, considering what became of Roger. I figure people would have gossiped either way, so they might as well have gone all out. But they didn’t consult me, so whatever.”

  “Do you think Hammond regretted his decision?” Darian asked. “Marrying Cole at all, I mean, not just the type of ceremony. Cole thought Hammond’s outburst signaled grief over Roger’s death, but I wonder if it also resulted from Cole’s…ah…flamboyant behavior.”